


Old Nine Gates - Collected Shorts

by anticommute



Category: Mystic Nine, Old Nine Gates
Genre: AND MY TUMBLR LAYOUT SUCKS FOR FIC AND TO FIND IT, BECAUSE IM GOING TO WRITE MORE, M/M, and uh i do want to keep other tumblr more translation based for now...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-10 13:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6986749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anticommute/pseuds/anticommute
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of drabbles and short stories. AR where Zhang Qishan doesn't have a wife...(because she's an ~original character~ for the new novel/movie). Also AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. index card fic - qi/er

**Author's Note:**

> PS. The Old Nine Gates/Mystic Nine English translations can now be found @ [xingxiu on tumblr](http://xingxiu.tumblr.com/tableofcontents). This is not 'Chronicles of the Nine Gates' and is not the source work so IF THAT'S WHAT YOU'RE HERE FOR, GO THERE INSTEAD!!

A bench scraped against the floor, but Er Yue Hong’s eyes remained fixed in the distance. The click of china, the sound of tea being poured.

“How did you know where I was?”

“I didn’t. I happened to pass by.”

A smile forced its way onto his face. “And you happened to pass by today.”

“Er Yue–”

“Not today, my Lord. Just for today, let me… let me remember.”

Zhang Qishan stood slowly, adjusting his cap.

“It will be worth it,” he said.

The words were swallowed by the click of china.

 

 

It was a mix of pity and rage that settled in his chest as he watched the striking figure in military green disappear into the crowd. How many years had it been? How many days? And yet.

The cup of tea sat on the table behind him, untouched. His gaze summoned up a scene from uncountable years ago–but it was an image that refused to appear.

“I had no choice, there was no other way,” he’d once said.

“There’s always a choice,” had been his reply.

Yet, watching that stiffly held retreating back–if he searched his heart of hearts, he knew–but no, not today.

Today, he would remember. Just for today.

 

 

The moon had lit the courtyard that night. Zhang Qishan had seemed even taller in the half darkness, his shadow cast across the stones, his profile cast in shadow. Yet, his eyes had been earnest, and it was in that earnestness that Er Yue Hong saw Zhang Qishan’s true self, with all his fears, his doubts, his worries.

It was the faintest of movements with which he’d raised his hand, but it was Zhang Qishan who took the first step.

Yet, as they touched, Er Yue Hong knew that the true first step had been taken by him.

 

 

“You think you are wrong.”

“I know I am wrong,” he said, yet he still leaned back into Zhang Qishan’s touch, letting his head fall against his shoulder.

Outside, the storm raged, tearing petals from the branches, the paths littered red. He knew what Zhang Qishan would say, that Yatou would want him to live his life fully, and worse, he knew that he was right.

“Am I wrong?” The words were murmured against the top of his head, settling deep inside his thoughts.

No, he thought. Yes.

“It’s raining hard.”

“Yes,” he said. “It is.”


	2. 1/2 midnight smoke

It’s been some time now since the blanket of silence has settled over the Hong house, over the courtyard, in the stream, through the rooms, now empty, but for intricate trinkets and long valued objects, and memories of livelier days.

Er Yue Hong exited his work room, slipping into the quiet moonlight.

It was with some surprise he saw a shadow by the water, but it was a surprise that soon melted away.

"My Lord." He pitched his voice far, but softly, knowing it would carry, and that his Eminence would hear it, regardless.

Sure enough, Zhang Qishan turned, his profile half shadowed by the low light of the moon. A slight smile emerged on his features as Er Yue Hong made his slow way across the courtyard. Zhang Qishan stood, an erstwhile statue, while he waited.

"Your butler let me in," Zhang Qishan said, by way of explanation.

Unlike Er Yue Hong, his voice was firm, and reverberated about the empty courtyard. It was deep night, and Er Yue Hong’s staff would’ve been long asleep.

"When did you come?" Er Yue Hong asked.

Zhang Qishan just smiled.

Er Yue Hong let out a quiet puff of laughter, then bowed slightly in a sketch of deference, gesturing towards his private quarters. Zhang Qishan nodded and followed his direction, although it was a path that he had walked many times before.

Er Yue Hong shut the door behind the both of them, the doors closing with a quiet thud. Zhang Qishan took no note, merely moved to stand by the window. An image that made Er Yue Hong’s heart catch in his throat—a rain filled day, scattered petals, the taste of guilt deep in his tongue—but many months have passed since then.

"What brings you here tonight, my Lord?" Er Yue Hong asks.

Zhang Qishan turns to him, and that same small smile is on his face. "Do I need a reason?" he asks.

Er Yue Hong laughs quietly. "My Lord, let’s not play this game. You wouldn’t come to my home and stand in my garden for hours, without a reason."

A flash of tension passes over Zhang Qishan’s face, the smile wavering, but remaining in place.

"You’re right," Zhang Qishan says. "I do have a reason. I wanted to see you."

"That’s not much of a reason," Er Yue Hong says. He holds down the sudden thud of his heart.

"Is it not?" Zhang Qishan asks. He walks towards Er Yue Hong, catching at his elbow before Er Yue Hong can draw away. Er Yue Hong’s breath hitches, and he curses himself for his lack of restraint. It is only with Zhang Qishan that it wavers, and he hates himself even more for it. Through his sleeve, Zhang Qishan’s touch sears as if a brand, Er Yue Hong is so aware of it.

"No, not when the world is in such turmoil as this," Er Yue Hong breathes. He finally gives in, lets Zhang Qishan tug him forward, until Er Yue Hong’s head rests against Zhang Qishan’s shoulder.

"I needed to see you," Zhang Qishan corrects himself. The words bury themselves in Er Yue Hong’s hair, and they settle inside of him like slivers of glass, impossible to remove without causing more damage than they had when they’d first embedded themselves in flesh and skin.

 _She’d want you to live your life to the fullest_ , Zhang Qishan had said once. _She would never want you to bear this guilt._

 _You of all people have no right to say that,_ Er Yue Hong had said, and his blood should have been boiling but instead, it’d congealed in a pool of guilt.

 _Perhaps,_ he’d admitted, but had only held Er Yue Hong tighter. _But perhaps it is also why I can see with clearer eyes than yours, Er Ye. Nor will this ever match up to the love between the two of you, but do not view this with guilt for such a reason. The living should not live for the dead—they should live for themselves and for those who still live._

Zhang Qishan was callous of death; this, Er Yue Hong knew. He had seen so much death that it meant little to him, beyond that which ended life. That was all.

But Zhang Qishan is also warm and steady and he stands in Er Yue Hong’s room, telling him that he needs him, and Er Yue Hong believes him. Even someone like Zhang Qishan had need of people now and then, in a way beyond the practical, the matter of business that needed to be done.

"When did you come?" Er Yue Hong asks again. This time, his words nestle against the crook of Zhang Qishan’s neck.

"Shortly after the sun set," Zhang Qishan says, long moments later.

"Because you wanted to see me?" Er Yue Hong steps away, and he catches, for the briefest of moments, an expression of utter loss in Zhang Qishan’s eyes. Again, his heart traitorously jumps.

"Yes," Zhang Qishan says simply. "Is that bad?"

Er Yue Hong lets a smile creep onto his face. "Not at all, my Lord. I’m honoured by your presence."

"Yue, please—"

"Go home, my Lord. You’ve seen me. Isn’t that enough?"

Zhang Qishan’s face draws tight. "If that’s what you truly desire," he says, "I cannot force you."

"No," Er Yue Hong laughs bitterly, "you never force me, yet you always get me to do what you want."

Perhaps it is because his expression is too pitiful, too vulnerable, one that once, Er Yue Hong would never have thought Zhang Qishan could ever wear. Perhaps it is because Er Yue Hong’s heart is soft, and has always been soft. Or perhaps it is because it is Zhang Qishan standing in front of him, a man who had caught his eye from the very first moment, and a man who Er Yue Hong has never been able to deny.

He steps forward, resting his hand on Zhang Qishan’s shoulders—half a beat later, Zhang Qishan’s hand is on his waist, the other against the back of his neck, and Er Yue Hong leans into the kiss, lets his body freely respond the way his mind cannot without the burden of guilt.

Zhang Qishan kisses him, and Er Yue Hong kisses him back, and this is nothing like what he had with Yatou. This is Zhang Qishan sucking insistently at his lip, and small noises at the back of Er Yue Hong’s throat as he clutches at Zhang Qishan’s shoulder, as heat rises through his very core, as Zhang Qishan’s mouth is hot and wet against his and he crushes Er Yue Hong to him.

And Er Yue Hong, in a very deep, hidden part of himself, admits that he had wanted to see Zhang Qishan too.

The morning sun cats its light over a half empty bed.

There is no sign of last night, bar for the mark, dark against Er Yue Hong’s pale skin, nestled between his collar bones where it will be safely hidden by clothes. Er Yue Hong watches as his fingers creep up to it in the mirror.

He had woken alone, and he knows that if he were to ask his butler if they had seen anyone leave, the answer would be no. Zhang Qishan had been asleep when Er Yue Hong had finally let sleep claim him, but Er Yue Hong doesn’t doubt that the general would exercise discretion over desire.

As Er Yue Hong himself would do.

He dresses quickly, and steps out into the soft morning light that floods the courtyard, not a shadow of Zhang Qishan to be seen. He is to meet him today. Today, they will talk business.

Tonight, Er Yue Hong knows, he will be the one who wants to see him.

Who needs to.


End file.
